A wonderful time last night at the Utopian Country Club; it was a veritable who's who of the movers and shakers of the publishing world (more or less) - seriously, Whathisname works with a really swell group of folks and I really enjoyed myself.
The venue was a sprawling club nestled back in the woods of Upper Utopia, surrounded by golf courses, tennis courts and iced-over lakes. Inside a roaring fire and an open bar greeted revelers.
One by one, I was introduced to Whatshisname's co-workers while sucking down a fine Merlot and doing my best, "pleased to meet you" smile. It was obvious that everyone wanted to meet the interracial gay couple; as we were greeted by people that even my partner did not know (a woman came up to hug him, I said, "Who was that", he says's "I don't know!").
Enjoying my third or fourth glass of merlot, I scoped out the dancers. White upper middle class people dancing to "It's Raining Men" - my god there is something so ironic about that. Speaking of dance, Whatshisname would not trip the light fantastic with me when the DJ played "I Only Have Eyes For You" (which as anyone knows is my all time fave love song; and the the only song I might slow dance too). Then again, say what you will, my baby gots no rhythm (he will debate this but I have yet to see proof to the contrary).
Even though we were surrounded by the Creme de la Creme; bad fashion statements happened. For instance, we spotted a rather androgynous fellow in a leopard print vest. Yeah, a leopard print vest! A co-worker of my baby's, a sassy little chickadee named, L, pointed out the leather skirt faux paux made by a woman with rather wide hips as well as some shlump who showed up in saggy jeans and a ratty shirt, we toasted over Southern Comfort punch, that some of these folks needed make overs.
Later on door prizes were awarded (Visa gift certificates, passes to a day spa, iPods); while our table got nothing, it did not go unnoticed that leopard print vest guy and his "date" (who looked like Norma Desmond) both won. It was agreed that next year we all wear bad animal prints.
Food and desserts were splendorous and just plain perfect. We gorged our selves on the fine fare and the sinful baked goods.
At night's end, we said or goodbyes, and walked back to the car, the moon lighting the snow covered walkway, the stars crackling above us, we gazed upon the several mini mansions nestled back on wooded lots here and there and we agreed that we should have been born into money...and then we jumped into the car, and headed home.